


Crowned

by GenericUsername01



Series: Star Trek Fairytales [9]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Humor, Intrigue, Racism, SEHLATS, Sexism, The Princess Diaries 2 AU, Vulcan Culture, Weddings, Women Being Awesome, Women In Power, balls, half-vulcan nyota uhura, nothing too bad though it's fairly mild-ish, slumber party
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 06:27:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17259242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GenericUsername01/pseuds/GenericUsername01
Summary: Nyota Uhura found out she was the half-Vulcan heir to the throne of T'Khasi when she was fifteen and awkwardly muddling her way through tenth grade and first kisses and an entire heritage that she knew nothing about.Now twenty-one, she's accepted her role as a princess and future ruler, and spent years preparing to take her rightful place on the throne. Unfortunately for her, however, an outdated law requires her to get married within thirty days or forfeit the throne entirely, which would then fall to T'Pring. And T'Pring may just work to help that particular instance along.





	1. The Ball

**Author's Note:**

> Shi'Oren t'Ek'Tallar T'Khasi = Vulcan Academy of Cultural Heritage  
> Ko'mekh-il = grandmother  
> Reldai = princess  
> Hgrtcha = an important Vulcan clan  
> T'Sai = lady  
> Ko-te'kru = Queen  
> Sa-te'kru = King

"--Although your degrees are equally specific, remember: you are all going out into the universe as individuals. I now present with great honor, this year's graduating class of Shi'Oren t'Ek'Tallar T'Khasi."

The crowd dispersed with polite Vulcan murmuring. There was no applause, for obvious reasons.

Nyota had majored in Diplomacy and Interstellar relations, in preparation for her grandmother stepping down as queen later this year, but unfortunately, there were no classes specifically about how to run a planet. Only Ko'mekh-il could teach her that.

Nyota had been fifteen when she found out she was a princess, about five years ago. At the time, she hadn't even known she was half-Vulcan. Sure, her mom had told her she had Vulcan relatives on her dad's side, but she had not made the leap in logic from that to 'oh hey, your dad's a Vulcan, by the way.'

Hybrid children were only possible via genetic engineering. When Nyota had been conceived, her parents had elected to make her human traits more noticeable. Rounded ears and curved eyebrows. She had known about her green blood and long life expectancy, but that was it, really. She had considered it a minor footnote in her heritage, an odd bit of biological trivia. She had also had her appendix removed. She didn't give that much thought either.

Then her dad died and the news hit like a bombshell and her life exploded.

It was the galactic story of the century. The human girl from Nairobi who turned out to be the crown princess of Vulcan. Suddenly, her life was filled with lessons and paparazzi and expectations and lessons and bodyguards and did she mention lessons?

All in all, she only seriously considered forfeiting her claim to the throne for a few months. It was Christine who changed her mind, really. She had teased her constantly about being a princess and complained on and on about what an inconvenience it was for them both, but when Nyota got close to her breaking point, she pulled her back and snapped her out of it. Talking about social reform and the chance to make a difference. How many fifteen-year-olds had that power, really? To have lived a normal life, seen what it was like, and then be given the chance to effect real change?

Who the hell was Nyota to pass up an opportunity like that? After that point, she and Ko'mekh-il had done everything possible to make sure she was worthy of the honor. Deserving of the crown. Ready for it.

A little less than a year, and then she would be.

* * *

 

The herald announced each peer as they arrived at Shi'Kahr Palace.

"Her Royal Highness, Reldai Hgrtcha Nyota Oyana Uhura, has arrived."

A footman opened the door to the aircar. Fat Louie made a mad dash out and up the steps, pawing at the door and meowing pitifully. Nyota followed a few seconds later, already smiling.

She was home.

"And her royal pussycat, Sir Fat Louie," the herald added.

Nyota glided up the steps to the palace, and the aircar flew away, quickly replaced by another.

"Her Majesty, Ko-te'kru Hgrtcha T'Karik'es, has arrived."

"Her Royal Highness, Princess Vrokar Gaila of Orion, has arrived."

"Lady Mrinnimu tow Thiloth, Baroness of Andor."

"His Majesty, King s'Khnialmnae Giellun of Romulus, has arrived."

"T'Sai T'Marva of Da-Leb, Countess of Kel."

"Lord Philippe Renaldi, Marquess of Venus."

"Lord Grek, Earl of Tellar Prime."

"Lady Jijuun Fialfi, Marchioness of Rigel VII."

The list went on and on, peers pouring into the castle and being directed to the ballroom. It was a special occasion-- Nyota's twenty-first birthday. She had officially come of age in accordance with Vulcan law. The resulting gala was likely to be the high-society event of the year, barring any unforeseen occurrences.

The queen cleared her throat, and a nearby attendant took note and struck a gong, silencing the crowd. All eyes turned to focus on the matriarch.

"Greetings and salutations to all. May you live long and prosper," she said. The entire ballroom repeated the phrase, peers holding up the ta'al in deference. Bowing was a thing in Vulcan culture, but a very minor one, and overshadowed greatly by saluting. "This event is held in honor of Sa-te'kru Supet's and my granddaughter, Reldai Nyota. I invite you all to raise your glasses in celebration of her twenty-first year and coming-of-age within our society."

T'Karik'es turned, drawing attention to the palatial doors at the top of a curved staircase. A herald spoke.

"Presenting Her Royal Highness Hgrtcha Nyota Oyana Uhura, Reldai t'T'Khasi."

The doors were opened dramatically, and Nyota stepped out, her face kept coolly placid yet content, robes flowing out around her in shades of red and gold. Her hair had been styled up elaborately, rubies threaded through it. A heavy pendant hung from her neck-- the green of a reldai rather than the red of a ko-te'kru.

"To Reldai Nyota," T'Karik'es said, raising a flute of pale blue ale.

"To Reldai Nyota!" the crowd echoed.

She waved out at them-- perhaps a bit too enthusiastically, as her friendship bracelet from Christine went flying off her wrist. A few of the emotional beings in attendance laughed, and Nyota gave a sheepish smile. A servant retrieved the bracelet stoically and handed it back to her.

"Thanks," she murmured. The servant gave a clipped nod.

Nyota glided down the staircase, and the dancing began.

* * *

 

Nyota looked around furtively and then snatched a berry off an elaborately decorated dessert, popping it into her mouth.

"I saw that," a voice said behind her, and she whirled to see--

Princess Gaila, decked out in a brightly colorful gown and headdress, practically dripping with flowers.

Both girls squealed and immediately embraced each other.

"I've missed you!" Gaila said, just a touch too loud, and Nyota beamed.

"What have you been up to?"

"Oh, you know me, Ny, partying night and day. You  _have_ to come to Orion one of these--"

And then Nyota slammed into a Vulcan and stepped way too hard on their foot.

"Oh! Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there. Are you alright?"

The Vulcan arched an eyebrow blandly. "I believe I shall survive."

Nyota laughed brightly, and a flicker of amusement flashed on the Vulcan's face.

"Are you sure? I mean, who knows how many people every year are killed by the dreaded foot-stomp?"

"Indeed," the Vulcan said, dripping with mock-seriousness. Then her tone changed. "It is of no consequence, Your Highness. The fault is as much mine as it is yours."

She smiled, then quickly repressed it. That was one of the main things she struggled with: hiding her emotions. Growing up on Earth as a presumed human, she had always been a woman of deep passion, showing it freely and easily. Now, she was heir to the throne of Vulcan, and such displays were considered unseemly. Indecent, almost.

"Wanna dance?" she asked suddenly. She was supposed mingle and circulate, and dance with as many peers as possible.

"Of course, Your Highness."

"Nyota. You can call me Nyota," she said. "And you are?"

"T'Pring."

They assumed their respective positions, and the dance began. Traditional Vulcan dancing is entirely touchless, for the sake of propriety. Both partners mirror each other in perfect synchronicity, but never come in contact.

The air between them was charged with electricity. T'Pring's eyes felt like scalding water wherever they landed, and Nyota repressed the urge to shiver. Vulcan ballroom dancing is perhaps the most chaste form of dance in the galaxy, but somehow T'Pring made it feel like pure temptation, like a tease, almost. Scant inches of air between them were tantalizing, and several times, Nyota was sure T'Pring was going to break the rules and close the distance at last, only for her to pull back at the last second, smug mirth in her eyes.

It was a dance where touch was forbidden, and for the first time in her life, Nyota truly hated a Vulcan custom.


	2. Ultimatum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S'haile = lord  
> Nashih = old Vulcan clan

Two young women in simple umber robes stepped through the open door of her suite.

"Oh, hi," Nyota said. She lifted Fat Louie off her lap and onto the ground. He made a disgruntled noise, then lumbered over to the bed.

"I am T'Fonn'es, at your service," one said.

"And I am T'Buhl'es."

"Ah. Well, I'm Nyota, and, uh, you don't need to keep curtsying like that."

"We were informed it was an Earth custom of deference and respect to one of royal blood," T'Fonn'es said. "We have learned all possible iterations of this custom."

They began to demonstrate.

"How would you like us to curtsy?" T'Buhl'es asked, dipping into her third version of it. Somehow, both women were silently agreeing on each form without so much as looking at each other. They had to be using their telepathy. Had to be.

"Like this?" T'Fonn'es asked.

"Or like this?"

"Or this?"

"No no no, I didn't mean like--" At some point, Nyota had started curtsying as well. "Like, there was nothing wrong with-- Um, I didn't mean it at--"

T'Karik'es's aide stepped in, bypassing the curtsy-a-thon entirely. "The queen bids you good morning, Reldai. She is in session with Parliament. I see you have become acquainted with your lady's maids."

They were still curtsying.

"Yeah! Um." She dropped her voice discreetly. "How do you turn off the curtsies?"

The aide-- T'Hayal-- turned to the lady's maids. "You have bowed sufficiently. Return to your chores."

Both maids nodded and exited the suite.

T'Hayal turned back to Nyota. "Her Majesty will meet you in one hour in the throne room. I apologize for your suite as reldai not being prepared as of yet. Are the guest compartments satisfactory to you?"

"Oh, yeah, no, it's fine," she said. "Hey, is it okay if explore the palace a bit?"

"Of course. Do remember to keep your appointment with the queen, however."

Nyota nodded.

* * *

 

She wore comfortable Earth clothes, a soft shawl and worn jeans. Completely out of place in a Vulcan palace, but who cared? She was comfortable.

She had expected to be overheated while on Vulcan, but her first visit had shown she couldn't be more wrong. While Nairobi hadn't exactly been arctic, Nyota had always been cold there, even in the height of summer. She had been cold her entire life, to the point where she thought it was normal, that everyone always felt that way. She had always been confused when people complained about the heat, but she had written it off as a minor quirk, no big deal.

It was so obvious, in hindsight. Vulcan. Of course she was Vulcan.

And now she was on her ancestral homeworld, to stay, and she felt comfortable.

It was luxurious.

She wandered through the halls, finding well-secluded nooks and crannies. The palace was centuries and centuries old. It had withstood even the most brutal wars and attempts at invasion from before the Reform. It was one of the oldest standing structures on the planet, within the Federation, within the  _galaxy._ For as long as Vulcan stood, the Shi'Kahr Palace would as well.

It made the pyramids look downright modern.

So she wasn't surprised when she tipped back a clay bust and a secret passageway opened up in the wall. Thrilled, but not surprised.

She stepped inside without the slightest hesitation.

She walked forward, deeper into the tunnel, until she heard voices filtering in, speaking in High Golic.

A grate. There was a ventilation grate, open near the ceiling of the Parliament chambers. She could hear everything.

"--So, as of stardate 3487.92 of last year, on the occasion of her twenty-first birthday, another Vulcan of the royal bloodline became eligible to assume the throne," S'haile Severo said.

"What?" Nyota gasped.

"My niece, T'Sai of the clan of Nashih."

Ko-te'kru T'Karik'es stood. "I beg your pardon?"

"My niece's mother was my wife's sister, and therefore, Your Majesty, I am honored to state that my niece is ready to assume her place as Vulcan's rightful queen."

"Is not Reldai Nyota first in line to ascend the throne?" a parliamentarian asked.

"Not as yet," another said. "Vulcan law states that a reldai must marry before she can take the throne."

"We have never enforced that law," T'Karik'es said. "A man is bound by no such stipulation. This is twenty-third century. We have moved beyond such archaic restrictions. My granddaughter should be given the same rights as any man."

"Yeah!" Nyota said, then clapped a hand over her mouth. Several parliamentarians looked towards the ceiling in confusion.

"Vulcan shall have no queen lest she be bound in matrimony," an ancient-looking man said.

"S'haile Salimorhh--" T'Karik'es started.

"This has been the law of Vulcan for the last 3,000 years," he said. "Reldai Nyota is not qualified to rule while yet unbonded. And forgive me, Your Majesty, but not all of us are sure that the reldai is the suitable choice to govern our fair planet."

"Gentlemen, please," the Prime Minister said. Nyota looked around the edges of the grate and... yes. Gentlemen. Her grandmother was the only woman in the room.

She bit back a swear. The Prime Minister kept talking.

"I advise that this honored body allow Reldai Nyota one year, during which time she must marry, or she forfeits the throne of Vulcan to young T'Sai t'Nashih."

"What? No!" Nyota hissed.

"I object. I object most strongly," S'haile Severo said.

"Sixty days should be more than sufficient," someone else said.

"Sixty days?"

"Thirty days."

The Prime Minister banged a small gong, calling for silence. "Thirty days it shall be."

Nyota slammed the grate shut.


End file.
